


Strike

by dragonofheaven07



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, First Time, M/M, Matches!Bruce, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:50:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonofheaven07/pseuds/dragonofheaven07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It wasn’t out of the ordinary to see men and women selling their bodies on the streets of Gotham. Unfortunately, it wasn’t uncommon to see children doing it, too. What was such a sight to see was one with such spunk and persistence as the one following Matches Malone..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strike

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt request for stuffingprize on tumblr: Matches!Bruce/Jason, something sexy, with chili dogs

It wasn't out of the ordinary to see men and women selling their bodies on the streets of Gotham. Unfortunately, it wasn’t uncommon to see children doing it, too.

What was such a sight to see was one with such spunk and persistence as the one following Matches Malone.

“C'mon, old man! I’m half price, just for tonight!” the boy hollers behind him. 

Matches keeps his pace, staring straight down the barren avenue. “Get outta my hair, I ain’t got time to deal with babies.”

“I’m here to give you a fucking happy ending! And I’m not a fucking baby!” 

Matches turns, irritation starting to get the best of him. He tilts his tinted glasses and gets a good look at the kid. He would have been considered cute, if it wasn’t for the pout and those snake-like slitted blue eyes. He can’t be more than fifteen, and even that’s pushing it pretty far, with a round face and tousled black hair. He’s wearing these daisy-duke jean shorts and a thick maroon coat that’s three sizes too big. His hands are enveloped in the sleeves as he flails at the gangster.

“Twenty for your cock sucked, fifty for all the way. No refunds,” he says firmly, crossing his arms.

“Do ya kiss your mother with that mouth?” Matches asks.

“Mom’s dead, wise-ass,” the boy bites back. “So, do we got an agreement or not?”

Matches chews on his namesake, shifting it to the other side of his mouth. “Do ya even know who I am, kid?”

“Sure, I do. You’re that mob boss or whatever that’s makin’ a big splash in these parts,” the boy responds. 

“Am I, now?”

“And whoever’s chumming with the lions might get some leftovers, if you catch my drift.” The boy raises an eyebrow, smirks. “Us vultures gotta eat, too.” 

Matches blinks, then laughs heartily. “Ya got moxy. I kinda like that,” he says, wiping away a tear. “Lemme buy ya a chili dog.”

“A what?” The boy cocks his head.

“Ya never had one before? That’s a crime in itself!” Matches approaches a street vender. “One for the kid here.” He hands the man the money and takes the hot dog. “Enjoy the fruits of Gotham.”

The boy almost yanks it out of his hand, and wolves it down.

“Smaller bites, ya’re gonna give ya self a stomach ache,” Matches smiles. ”So? Whatta ya think?”

The boy wipes some sauce off his mouth with his over-sized sleeve. “Shit, man, that’s good,” he muses.

“Ya want another?”

The boy nods vigorously.

“I’ll cut ya deal, kid. If ya come back with me to my place, I’ll buy ya as many dogs as ya want.”

The boy thinks it over for a bit. Any possibility of food is pretty damn tempting.

“Deal.”

—

“Pretty snazzy place you got here, old man.” The boy sits on the sofa, swinging his legs back and forth. His coat hangs over the armchair, revealing a tattered gray wife-beater.

“I thought I told ya to quit callin’ me that,” Matches scowls.

“Oh, sorry,” the boy giggles. He whips his head around the apartment, and suddenly he feels a pang of nervousness as the gangster sits next to him. He flinches when Matches puts a hand on his knee, rubs it.

“Ya okay, kid?”

“Oh course, I am!” the boy answers, much louder than necessary. 

Matches takes the boy’s chin, looks right in his eyes and sees the fear clear as day. “Tell me what’s botherin’ ya.”

“…It’s my…” The boy bites his lip, gulps. “It’s my first time, okay?” he admits. “You were the first guy I had the balls to approach.”

The information sinks in and a grin stretches across Matches’ lips. “Kinda cool to know that I’ll be breaking ya in,” he says, stroking the side of his face and the boy shivers. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be all nice and gentle.”

Matches pushes the boy on his back, and starts stroking his groin. The boy gasps at the touch, shaking, shutting his eyes, his toes furling. 

“How’s that feel?”

“Feels…weird…” The boy’s breath hitches when Matches lifts his shirt, plants a kiss on his small chest right above his pounding heart. His lips descend, leaving a trail of red marks until Matches is in the middle of the boy’s legs. The shorts come off and there’s the boy’s cock, already soaking. 

When Matches puts his lips around it, the boy screams, grabs Matches’ hair. “Wha-What are you—”

His mouth moves and the boy moans in time with the rhythm. It doesn’t take long before Matches gets him off, whimpering, fiercely gripping the cushions for dear life.

The boy breathes out, spent, and Matches hooks a leg over his shoulder. He pops the cap off a tube, squeezing out the contents over his hand. “Gonna make ya nice and wet.”

The boy nods groggily in compliance as the tip of a finger slips inside him, and he screams again. “H-Hurts…!” 

Matches chuckles, holds him in place. “Easy, baby.” The digit eases out a bit, then back in. “Just relax.”

The finger is joined by another, and together they scissor the boy’s insides, stretching him out. When the boy seems used to the violation, Matches takes the opportunity to pull his fingers out. He positions his cock at the boy’s trembling hole, slamming inside, and the tightness and blown expression on the boy’s face makes him almost come right on the spot. ”Good?”

“Y-Yeah…really good, bigger please…” The boy arches back, groans as he’s rocked.

“Such a good boy ya are, so pretty,” Matches whispers. “Such a good boy.”

“P-Please, keep saying that, please…”

“A good baby, good boy.”

“M-More, oh god, please, deeper, deeper!”

“Sweet baby, my good boy, daddy’s boy.”

“Ngh—!”

The boy spasms sharply, coming in a sudden burst of white-hot fury. Matches grunts, the image of his writhing too much to handle, and comes too.

He catches his breathe, pets the boy’s thigh.

“Good boy.”

—

The glue holding Matches’ mustache is wearing thin. He holds it on his upper lip as the boy prepares to head out, tying his boots. “So, kid. Ya never really told me yar name.”

“It’s Jason,” the boy says. “Jason Todd.”

“Well, Jason Todd. God speed, and good luck.” 

“Uh, thanks, mister.”

When Jason steps down the building stoop, he realizes there’s something in his coat pocket. He pulls it out and discovers a hefty stack of hundred-dollar bills wrapped in a rubber band. A sticky note is on the top:

‘Feel free to swing by anytime you get lonely. Don’t spend it all on those chili dogs.

-Matches’


End file.
